


Number One

by DietS0daS0ciety, randyscousegit



Category: The Beach Boys (Band), The Beatles (Band), The Monkees, The Monkees (TV)
Genre: Crack Fic, Drug Use, Gen, Murder, Rated teen for language, Recreational Drug Use, THE BEACH BOYS ARE LIKE A TRANSFORMER AND THE FIVE OF THEM TURN INTO A BOAT, bc its the 60s, very much crack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-05-28 17:02:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19398532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DietS0daS0ciety/pseuds/DietS0daS0ciety, https://archiveofourown.org/users/randyscousegit/pseuds/randyscousegit
Summary: After losing their number one position on the American charts to The Beatles, The Monkees decide to take matters into their own hands.





	1. Fuck The Beatles

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bunch of nonsense we decided to start writing on a Friday night instead of going out.  
> Hope you enjoy!

It was a quiet day in the Monkee house. Well, as quiet as it usually was. Which was not very quiet.  
It was especially quiet because the band was mourning the loss of their number 1 position on the US pop charts. This was all down to those BASTARD scousers, the Meatles. They had taken the number 1 spot and rubbed their grubby little cuck hands over it. This had, naturally, made the Monkees quite sad.  
Micky had, however, only cried twice so far in the last hour (pisces bitch). Davy was staring morosely at a wall. Mike had removed his hat out of respect, thus losing the only brain cell apparent within the group. And Peter….. Was plotting murder. Of course.  
“Well say you guys,” he piped up, surprisingly upbeat, “I think I have an idea of how to get us back that top spot!”  
“What, Pete?” Mike asked, deadpan.  
“Well.... we kill ‘em!” he grinned.  
“Yew wot?” said Davy, finally tearing his eyes away from the wall, “We’re the Monkees! We’re too busy singing to put anybody down!”  
“But,” Micky chimed in, “We can’t keep singing if we don’t keep getting number ones…”  
Davy said “ :/ “ Then he said “You’re right, I s’pose”  
“How can we kill them if we live on the other side of the world though, Liverpool sounds like a shit hole and I refuse to step foot in it,” said Mike’s hat.  
“I didn’t know your hat could talk,” said Davy, “And ‘ey, how can a hat step foot anywhere, it doesn’t ‘av any feet.”  
“I don’t know how to respond,” said Mike, “the hat just talks to me sometimes, y’know? You never experienced that?” The other three Monkees all shook their heads. “Well okay,” he shrugged, “Anyway I agree with the hat, how are we gonna get to… wherever it is they are?”  
“Well, whenever we need something done, we usually go for a song montage, shouldn’t be too difficult to write a song about going to England or wherever it is those bastards are from,” Micky said, somewhat rationally.  
Davy laughed nervously as a traitor to the entire country he is from. “I mean,” he started, “do we really have to… go to England? Why not… wait for them to come to us?”  
“Absolutely no time,” said Peter, slamming the gavel on the table, “I want them dead.”  
“Where’d you get that? I thought we broke it,” Micky looked confused.  
“Get what?” Peter asked, hands empty again.  
“Whatever,” Mike shook his head, “We need to go to England.” He narrowed his eyes. “Now.”


	2. How To Write A Song

The four sat around the table, a piece of blank paper and a pen lying before them.   
“Okay,” Micky rubbed his hands together, “Let’s write about going to England!”   
“Davy,” Mike started, “ I think you should take control of this because you have been to that bastard of a country before.”  
“Oh! Uh, cheers boys,” Davy shifted uncomfortably in his seat, “Well, England is.. Well it’s… err…”   
“C’mon Davy!” Peter said, “We need to get there as soon as possible!”  
“We really don’t have time to just stand around, who knows what Paul McCartney is doing right this second,” exclaimed Mike.  
“I have a few ideas…..” said Micky, looking directly into the camera, having seen that copy of the New York Post from September 2018.   
“Anyway,” Mike cleared his throat, “Give us a starting point Davy, we’ve never seen your…. ‘Country’.”   
Davy laughed nervously and took the pen. He slowly wrote the word ‘Inglund’ at the top of the page, and underlined it, before dropping the pen and leaning back in his seat. The other three stared at him, silently. “Wot?” he said, “It’s a start!”   
“Well,” Micky said, suddenly looking anywhere other than at Davy, “What do we know about England, anyway?”   
“It’s a country!” Peter grinned.   
“Can we even be sure Liverpool is in England,” Davy interjected, “I mean, they sound a bit weird, don’t they? Scousers?”   
“They have English accents, Davy,” said Mike, “You stupid twink.”  
“Oi if anyone’s a twink here it’s Peter!”  
“What’s a twink?” Peter frowned.   
“Guys, we’re running out of time,” Micky reminded them, “I’ll start.”  
He picked up the pen and underneath Davy’s title he wrote ‘England, across the sea’.   
“Wot’s that say?” Davy asked.   
Micky ignored him. He wrote ‘England, come to me’.   
“I thought we were going to England, not the other way round,” Peter said, reading the paper.   
Davy looked at the paper and laughed, “haha yeah what Peter said.”  
“It’s a metaphor,” Micky said defensively.  
“Well metaphors aren’t gettin’ us anywhere,” Mike threw back, taking the paper from Peter. He read it over again carefully, before Micky felt compelled to hold a lightbulb over his friend’s head. “The sea….” Mike trailed off.  
“You have an idea!” Peter said excitedly.  
Mike, nodded, not looking up from the paper, “Who do we know who is American and hates the Beatles as much as us?” He asked.  
“Everyone, haha,” Davy said as an honorary American.  
“Who probably have a boat,” Mike added.   
“Uhh… I don’t know,” Micky shrugged, putting down the lightbulb, “Who?”


	3. Soliciting Brian Wilson

“So lemme get this right,” Brian Wilson said, “You wanna go to England? To kill The Beatles?”  
“Well we thought you might be interested,” suggested Micky.  
“They’re your competition as much as ours,” Mike continued.  
“And also we hate them,” finished Peter. Mike shifted nervously away from him, but not in a way that would be noticable.  
Brian crossed his arms.  
“What’s in it for us?” asked Al, bastardly.  
“Nice trip to England?” Micky suggested.  
Mike (Beach Boy) laughed, “Everyone knows there’s no such thing as a nice trip to England.”  
“Well then, I got nothin’,” Micky shrugged.  
Mike (The Monkees) stepped forward to get all up into the collective face of The Beach Boys, “You don’t want another number one? Huh?” he asked, poking Al in the chest, “When was the last time you missed the top spot because of that bastard McCartney?”  
They soon began to realise this could be about money, and, since all of them are bloody capitalists, they became intrigued.  
“Hold on, we need a Beach Boy huddle to discuss this,” Carl said, extending his arms around his band mates. The five began to harmonise with notes that the Monkees didn’t even think possible. Peter blacked out for a moment and awoke to the Beach Boys stood together in a pyramid formation, Mike and Al stood on the shoulders of Brian, Dennis, and Carl.  
“We have reached a decision,” Mike, Al, Dennis, and Carl said in unison.  
Mike (Monkee) looked to the pyramid, then to Brian who hadn’t spoken in regards to the decision. “We?” he asked. He didn’t want to rock the boat (pun) as they really needed this, but wanted them all to be on board.  
Carl laughed, “Brian is too Baby for this, leave him.”  
Micky just nodded solemnly in agreement, “Yeah, like Pete.”  
Mike (Monkee) thought about how Peter was super duper on board with murder, but visibly shook off the thought and returned to the task at hand.  
“Well wot have the rest of you decided?” Davy asked, having been silent this entire time. The harmonies from the Beach Boy Huddle ™ had somewhat erected his wanger but now he was past that and chose to speak.  
“We’ll help you,” Mike (Beach) responded.  
However, as the Beach Boys would later explain, all five of them needed to be willing in order for the Monkees to receive the help they needed.  
“But all five of us need to be willing in order for you to get the help you need,” Dennis said.  
All attention suddenly turned to Brian.  
“Look,” Brain said, “I can appreciate the musical stylings of the Beatles. I don’t want them dead.”  
“God for FUCKS sake Brian,” yelled Al.  
Peter, who related to Brian as he is also a musician and Baby, wanted to take him the fuck down, but Mike (Monkee) held him back.  
The four Monkees turned away from the Beach Boys to talk to each other.  
“Well what now?” Micky said.  
“I guess… we can’t go to England,” Davy tried to disguise his relief with a sigh.  
“No, that’s not an option,” Mike said, glancing at Peter who was still fuming.  
“We need them dead,” Peter muttered.  
“We need to convince Brian,” Mike insisted.  
Suddenly, Davy felt compelled to hold a lightbulb above Micky’s head. He really didn’t want to go to England and forced his arm down as much as he could, but Micky’s will to flirt with Brian was much stronger than any will Davy had ever had.  
“I have an idea!” Micky said, just in case it wasn’t obvious.  
Mike rolled his eyes, “I’ll go get the dress.” This was not the first time Micky had suggested such a thing. Davy was starting to get jealous, but again, Micky’s will to flirt with Brian far exceeded any will Davy could possibly have.

When Micky reappeared in the dress and wig, the Beach Boys, who had still been stood in their pyramid formation, suddenly fell to the floor. All of them, except for Brian, who was uncontrollably compelled forwards towards this new beauty.  
“Who might you be?” he asked, flirtatiously.  
“This is our friend, um, Mickelle,” said Mike (Monkee).  
“Hey,” said Micky, pitching his voice higher than usual. He waved coyly at Brian.  
“Well… hey,” Brian blushed, “you’re um, very pretty.”  
“Thanks,” Micky smiled, “can I tell you something?”  
“Of course!” Brian replied.  
The rest of the Beach Boys tried to get the attention of the mysterious blonde, but to no avail, as she only had eyes for Brian.  
Micky leaned close and whispered something in Brian’s ear, making his facial expression change from happiness, to shock, to excitement, to possible arousal.  
“What’d’ya think?” Micky asked when he finished.  
“I-” Brian said, “let’s get you to England!”  
Everyone cheered.


	4. Beach Buoys

The nine of them washed up on the shores of a strange country that none of them had ever heard of, some place called ‘Whales’. As they landed on dry land and the Monkees stepped off the boat, it began to dismantle back into five men.   
“Cor!” Davy exclaimed, “Who knew the Beach Boys could all meld together into one large boat!”  
“That’s the fifth time you’ve asked that Dave,” said Micky, still wearing the dress. The wig had been lost to the sea. Despite having lost the wig, Brian still seemed interested, and Micky winked at him again.  
“How far away are we from those bastards?” Mike (Monkee) asked, ignoring everything that was happening.   
“We’re not even in the right country,” Peter sighed, “Where the fuck is Whales?”   
“Do any of you have a map?” Mike (Monkee) asked the now separate Beach Boys.   
Four of them sadly shook their heads, but the fifth, Dennis, smiled. “Actually, I do!”   
He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Peter. Peter unfolded it carefully. It was a laundry receipt.   
“Thanks!” he smiled back.   
“Maybe we should try another song montage,” Mike (Monkee) sighed.   
“Well that’s probably the best idea we’ve got,” Micky shrugged.   
“So, I guess this is where we leave you,” Brian said shyly to Micky who everyone was now aware was Micky except Brian.  
Micky flipped his hair away from his eyes, “I guess so,” he replied sadly. His love for Brian had only grown stronger on the boat which was actually the Beach Boys. For much of the journey he had been sat on what he assumed was Brian’s arm. Who knows.   
“Will I see you again?” Brian asked, taking Micky’s hand.  
Micky took it back, “You know I’m Micky, right? From the Monkees.”  
Brian rolled his eyes because he’s not a fucking idiot.  
“Then yes,” Micky continued, “If we return back to our country.”  
Brian looked shocked, “if?” he questioned, worry in his eyes.  
“I mean, assuming we don’t all get arrested for trying to kill the most popular band in the world.”  
Mike (Monkee) smacked Micky upside the head, “Will you keep quiet about that?”  
“Oh who’s gonna hear us Mike, the sheep? Its just murder calm down.” Micky responded, angry that Mike (Monkee) had ruined his moment.  
Mike grabbed Micky by the front of his shirt and got in close enough for his hat to whisper, “The sheep have ears too, dipshit.” Before walking away and leaving Micky and Brian to whatever gay shit they were on.  
“I’ll miss you,” said Micky, taking Brian’s hand once again, “dearly.”  
Brian leaned in to kiss Micky somewhere on his face, but the rest of the Beach Boys chose that moment to tell Brian it was time to leave.  
“It’s time to leave,” they said in perfect harmony.  
“I’ll never forget you!” He yelled to Micky as his brother’s dragged him away.  
“What a weird bloke am I right?” said Davy, coming to stand next to Micky as they watched the surfers transform back into their boat.  
“Yeah,” Micky said solemnly, not letting Davy see the tear roll down his cheek, “yeah.”


	5. The Last Train To Liverpool

The Monkees had used their skills (however few) to locate a train station. They stood in a line on platform 3, looking around.   
“Does this train definitely go to Liverpool?” Mike asked, unsure.   
“Positive,” said Davy confidently, “the sign said so.”   
The rest of the band exchange a look.   
“Are you sure that’s what it said?” Micky asked him.   
“You can check if you want, it’s just over there,” Davy pointed to a sign inside the station.   
“Davy that’s a cafe,” Mike.   
“Oh is it?” Davy said absently.   
“Well does anyone want to ask when the next Liverpool train comes in?” asked Micky  
“No,” Davy said. He then remembered that they were stranded in whatever hell country this was and reconsidered. “I think you should ask, Pete.”   
But Peter had already taken control of a train on another platform and was halfway through the work needed to reroute it to Liverpool. He just really really hated the Beatles.  
“He’s determined,” Mike said, almost surprised, “I like it.”  
“Should we… go help him?” Micky asked, gesturing at Peter who had now taken full control of the train.   
“Y’know Mick, I don’t think he needs our help,” Davy said.   
“Okay,” Micky shrugged, “but should we go join him?”   
“Yeah I think we should,” Mike replied, and the three attempted to navigate the station until they were on the same platform as Peter and his commandeered train.   
“All aboard the last train to Liverpool,” Peter laughed at them out the side of the train, “You get it? Like our song?”   
Mike gave him a thumbs up of approval, and they joined him on board.


	6. Fuck The Beatles (Reprise)

Once Peter had successfully gained control of a train (not the most illegal plan of the day, somehow) getting to Liverpool was surprisingly easy. The tracks were all set out for them, and they just had to follow them. There were several incidents in which the points were set the wrong way, but this train just went over them anyway, because fuck the laws of physics. Peter Tork transcends the laws of physics. Isaac Newton once said of him that Peter made him rethink any mathematics he had achieved in his life. And also his sexuality. (Isaac Newton gets pegged).  
The main problem they had was knowing when to stop the train exactly. However, they knew they were getting close to the mark as they passed the Whalish border and Davy passed out with the knowledge that he had been returned to his homeland.  
“Mike how will we know when we’re there?” Peter asked, “I can’t see the station names until we’re at the station, and then it’s too late!”  
Mike scratched his chin thoughtfully. “We’ll know we’re in Liverpool when we can smell bastard cuck bitches, also known as the Beatles.”   
Micky laughed, but Mike wasn’t joking. He inhaled deeply through his nose, taking in the smutty air of the train. There was a faint hint of bastard so far, but nothing tangible. At least they were headed the right way.   
Davy woke up to see that no one noticed he wasn’t actually paying any attention. “What’s going on, where are we?” but all of a sudden, the scent of bastard cuck bitches was upon him. Having lived in England for much of his life, he was able to distinguish the Scents™ and instantly knew he was in deep shit (Cheshire).  
“I think we’re nearly there boys!” Mike announced, “Time to stop the train.”   
Both he and Peter reached for the brake at the same time, their hands meeting, sending a jolt of electricity through them both. But now was not the time to think about that. They both yanked the brake hard, until the train came to a squealing halt. It was only mildly suggestive.   
Micky stumbled a little at the sharpness of the braking, “Does this mean we’re here?”  
Beside him, Davy used a combination of the sides of chairs and Micky’s limbs to pull himself up. “Must do,” He replied in a voice that sounded like an English person who had never been to America imitating Ryan Reynolds, who isn’t even American. It was poor, so poor, in fact, that Micky refused to give a shit. Peter was too focused on planning out what he was going to use to decapitate Ringo Starr that he wasn’t really aware of anything surrounding him, and that only left Mike to squint slightly in Davy’s direction, before deciding that there were more important things for him to be dealing with.  
Davy took this as a win on his part.  
“Well c’mon then,” Mike said, “Let’s go find ‘em.”   
The four trailed out of the train, which had not stopped at a platform, but was instead stood in the middle of probably nowhere. They didn’t know enough about Liverpool to dispute it.   
“Okay well how do we find the Beatles, England can’t be that big,” Mike asked.  
Davy, who was now wearing a cowboy hat and matching boots, refused to respond.  
They all stopped walking, except for Peter, who was striding forward purposefully. “They’re this way,” he said bluntly, and refused to elaborate.   
The other three exchanged glances, before shrugging and following after him.   
“He might be right,” Mike reasoned.   
“Yeah,” said Davy, continuing his weird American accent, “well, it’s as good a guess as any! Yeehaw!”   
Micky and Mike both frowned at him, but still avoided comment. Davy refused to believe this was a bad thing. His accent was flawless.  
“Hey guys, how does a Monkee catch a Beatle?” Micky laughed, and then faltered, “I don’t have a punchline for this joke.”   
“Do you ever have a punchline for your jokes?” Mike laughed, lightening the mood a little and ignoring the fact that two of his friends were clearly going off the rails.  
“Sometimes!” Micky said, before landing a gentle punch on Mike’s shoulder, “See?”   
“Guys,” Davy interrupted them, pointing at Peter who was now walking in circles and growling slightly.   
“I think he’s got something!” Mike shouted, running over to Peter, “Good boy Pete,” he grinned, patting Peter gently on the head.   
“You think they’re… underground?”   
"Well," Davy laughed in his usual English accent, “There’s definitely something.”  
"Now what?" said Micky.   
"I think we gotta dig, you dig?" Mike shrugged.   
The three Monkees who weren’t Peter pulled out their shovels and began to chip away at the ground. 

They had been digging for hours, all three of them with their shovels penetrating the virgin ground, as Peter slept off his rage, having sweet dreams of Ringo’s head on a fucking spike. They had almost dug half a foot beneath the surface in this time, and were starting to get extremely tired, when Micky’s shovel hit something.   
“Hey guys I think I hit something,” Micky announced.  
"What, what?" Davy asked.   
The three of them looked down to inspect what Micky had found. Confused, Micky cocked his head to one side.   
Davy frowned, "Is that-"  
"Yep," said Mike, "It's frodis."   
Peter awoke at the sound of the commotion, interrupting a particularly nice part of his dream, which is weird, since Peter didn’t usually dream. His ambitions to overcome the Beatles were becoming a little intense. He decided to not mention this to the others.  
“Is it them? Did ya find them?”   
Mike knelt down to retrieve a small bag of green substance from the ground, and held it up to show Peter.   
"Not quite Shotgun," he sighed, "But we gotta be close."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took Some Time, we're working on it xo


End file.
